Too Much
by laurelisland
Summary: You didn't think all those whumping fics we write and read are totally innocent, did you? Sort of an Intruder missing scene.
1. Chapter 1

_Spoilers: Intruder_

_Pairing: none_

_Disclaimer: Carson isn't mine, neither is anything else from the series, I'm just borrowing. Story itself is mine, though._

_A.N. About the language in this fic; there is a RL version of it, but I don't know it well, so I tried to mimic it. What's in this fic is basically all BS, but hopefully comprehensible enough to get the idea. :)_

_Also thanks to my betas, fififolle, who helped me make the bad parts worse (in a good sense) and make Carson sound a bit more like himself, and Purpleyin, who helped make this more readable than what I originally wrote._

* * *

TOO MUCH

by

Iona

No matter where you are, what you're doing, you have to deal with one of the greatest evils the world has ever known – bureaucrats.

Medical school had prepared Carson Beckett for a lot of things, but not for this. It was something he was dearly sorry for.

He sat at a desk, facing a horrible bureaucratic monster with oversized glasses and perhaps just a wee bit undersized BDUs. The fact that he was underground, under tonnes of a mountain, didn't make him feel any better either. And the dim light of the desk lamp and an even dimmer overhead light made for a very eerie feel in the office. It felt along the lines of being questioned by a phantom official in a long dead castle.

»Before we approve your requisition, Doctor Beckett, there are a few issues that need to be addressed,« the SGC medical supply officer said in a flat voice.

»Yes?«

»Now, did I read this correctly...«

It took the officer a good half a minute to find what she was looking for in the stack of stapled papers that was most likely Carson's list of medical supplies to be replenished.

»You need 1200 labels...« she started in a monotone voice.

Ah, only that. Carson felt relieved.

»...and of those 540 for O positive blood products including whole blood, and 270 for A negative blood products including whole blood?« She gave him a look over the top of her glasses.

»Yes.«

»How come there are so few of the labels for all the other types of blood products?«

That almost rendered Carson speechless. What does a doctor say to that?

»Ach, I was just judging by statistics.«

»But type A negative blood is statistically not very common,« the officer pointed out. It sounded like she was reciting a report.

Of course Carson knew that! How to explain this to this polished scarecrow of a woman; that was another matter. »Well...«

»Are you trying to say that I...« she lowered the pen she held at the ready onto the desk in exasperation.

»No!« Carson gave out a low growl that didn't really have any effect on the officer. »The statistics are based on our blood usage.«

»And also on your statistical donor breakdown?«

Carson nearly bulged out his eyes.

»Listen, lass. I made sure I only listed what is needed. We run a fairly small facility; our needs may be different than yours at the Academy Hospital!«

The only reaction Carson's outburst got out of her was two raised eyebrows and thinned lips. »I do run the SGC supplies as well, Dr. Beckett. It is also an undersized facility. The statistical breakdown of blood types there represents the general population well.«

Carson took a deep breath and drew the specialized language from deep inside his memory, the place that hadn't been accessed in years. He managed to start quietly and calmly again.

»Captain, the data I have tell this story. If you have doubts about this, talk to the nurse who did these breakdowns for me. I am simply telling you what we need. We do not need 540 labels for O negative, we only need 260 of those, what we do need is 540 labels for the O positive. We don't need 270 labels for B negative, but we do need 270 of those for the A negative. That is not too hard for you to understand, is it? And if you'll check, the number of bags we need matches the number of the labels for all the blood types I requested.«

The woman remained unperturbed.

»Alright, next matter.«

»Next!« Carson cried.

She leafed through the papers a little more.

»Here it is. You requested an unusually large amount of various intravenous glucose solutions bags. We cannot give you as much. It is requested that you lower the number of needed bags in the future, and, if possible, the number of situations that would result in the need for glucose solutions.«

»I beg your pardon?«

»For the activity and main purpose of the base of which your facility is a part, the amount of glucose you claim to need exceeds the estimated amount of glucose used by such facilities per annum.«

Carson was mere millimeters from losing control of himself and attacking her like a bear. The woman didn't seem to sense that. He wondered if she was daft. Judging by her language, it was entirely possible.

»Like, I told you, I've only assessed our needs; that is what we need.«

»And like _I_ told you, Dr. Beckett, your need for glucose exceeds the estimated amount the front-line combat support facilities use.« Or maybe she wasn't really daft, just simply evil.

»What? What combat facilities?«

»That is what your base is, Doctor,« she said in a tone that clearly told Carson she thought he was not among the most intelligent.

»First, it is not a base, it is a city,« Carson started slowly, calmly... »and my infirmary is not a combat support facility; it's an infirmary that is available to all the people in the city, most of whom are scientists doing research. Considering that, we also encounter situations where glucose may be needed.« ...and ended in a quick angry tone: »So, can I have it?«

»We'll have to reassess that.« The officer took the pen. »Now, how did you classify your facility?«

With most of the adrenaline gone from his system, Carson feared he was going to start crying any minute.

»Alright, now if your facility is not combat support, you will not need as many bandages, dressings and generalized medical coverings, subcategories adhesive bandage, butterfly bandage, elastic bandage, gauze tape, gauze pads – sizes for both specified in the list, gauze...«

Carson would've stopped her from continuing sooner, but the fact she'd been enumerating all of this left him in a momentary stupor. Fortunately only momentary.

»Just a moment. You can't just take these away from us. We need those. As I already told you, I wrote the requisition with our needs in mind.«

»But you don't have many situations that would result in you needing those items. I cannot give you what you will not use,« she said, pointing the pen at Carson.

»According to our experience, we will.« Carson pushed her pen away, resulting in the tip facing her. It didn't faze her.

»Alright, you will have to reform your requisition then. Write the ordinary number of bandages and related items in the main request, and then write an addendum requisitioning additional bandages. Do not forget to specify subcategories.«

Carson groaned loudly. The officer seemed concerned.

»Are you alright, Dr. Beckett?«

»Alright! No, I'm not alright. I sent you a simple requisition for supplies we would need to restock our infirmary, and now I have to fight for and explain every little detail. It's a wonder you're not telling me I used the wrong font.«

»As a matter of fact, you did. Requisitions should be printed with a sans serif font; on a laser printer preferably, inkjet is also within acceptable parameters. But I am prepared to overlook that, so you needn't worry. Just correctly formulate your revised requisition.«

»Right, what's next?« Carson asked sarcastically. A fact, which the officer didn't appear to notice.

»Next? Hmm... ah, here.« She stabbed at the paper.

Carson crossed his arms. »Don't tell me? Vitamin C? Tylenol?«

»There is statistical shortage of acetaminophen and acetylsalicylic acid in your requisition, but unusually large amounts of codeine phosphate, diclofenac sodium, fentanyl citrate, hydrocortisone sodium phosphate, ibuprofen, meperidine hydrochloride, midazolam hydrochloride, morphine sulphate and tramadol hydrochloride.«

_Argh__, I'll get the »usual« amount of Panadol and stuff it down yer throat!_ Carson imagined himself yelling at her. Instead, he just smiled sweetly. »Like everything else, Captain, we decided it's what and how much we need. So, is it okay if I write an additional requisition for these?«

»Yes.«

»Good.« Carson stood up, turned around and walked to the door.

»Oh, Dr. Beckett...«

He turned to face the officer. »Yes?«

»Don't write the additional forms requisition as an addendum, but in the appropriate subsection of the main requisition!«

Carson managed to stop himself from yelling something inappropriate to her, but only mumbled something that might have sounded like an agreement before getting out and storming down the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

After two days of reworking his requisition and more dealings with the supply officer, Carson was ready to schedule an appointment with Dr. Mackenzie. Or skip the whole process and just saturate himself with all the sedatives he could get his hands on. But he did it – the revised requisition was filed and approved, and he was going back to Atlantis with a full load of medical supplies they desperately needed.

He wearily dropped into a chair in the SGC's commissary and sighed. He hadn't eaten in at least ten hours either. He just wasn't sure whether he'd rather start with the blue jello, one of his favorite dishes that Atlantis ran out of all too soon, or the steak. Unfortunately, the Americans didn't appreciate meat as much as Scotsmen did. It was nearly inedible. The choice made for him, he dug his spoon into the jello.

Just as he was blissfully scratching an itch on his wrist, he heard a voice he recognized almost immediately. »Dr. Beckett?« Colonel Caldwell.

»Yes?«

»Can I join you?« the Daedalus commander waved his tray at the table.

»Absolutely.« Carson motioned to the seat across the table, but had to retract the arm immediately to scratch his wrist again.

Colonel Caldwell went straight to the point: »I need to ask you something.«

»Yes?«

»You're in charge of requisitioning the medical supplies we'll be bringing back to Atlantis?«

»Aye.«

»Are these numbers correct?« He gave Carson a list on a clipboard.

Carson looked at it, and mumble-read it with the mouth full of the blue jello. »Aye. Except this. We have a hundred of these, not ten.«

The Colonel leaned back against the back of the chair, attacking a lettuce leaf. »Doctor, do you realize how much storage space we'll need for all of this?« He said between bites, subtly waving the lettuce at Carson.

»Aye. But it doesn't matter. It's what we need.« To avoid scratching with his finger, Carson now attacked the table's edge with his wrist. The Colonel only stared at him in confusion.

»I completely understand your point, Doctor,« he said, taking another leaf from his plate and expertly avoiding the dripping vinegar, »but I have to take into consideration everything else we'll need to take with us.«

»Need or want?« Carson almost regretted this as soon as he said it, but he was mentally exhausted to the point he didn't really care anymore. Subconsciously, he resumed scratching his wrist with his finger. »The medical supplies are essential. Many other things probably aren't.«

»To you, perhaps. But your stock will take up three storage rooms.« Caldwell leaned over the table and dug into the goulash. At the last moment he caught a drop of it before it dripped onto his pants.

»But you have more room than that, don't you?« Carson ground out, desperately wishing to drop some of the jello on his wrist to cool the itchy spot. He couldn't do it right there in the SGC commissary, though, so he only put the spoon in his mouth.

»Yes, but as I said, there's much more we'll need.« Caldwell didn't look up from his plate.

»Isn't there anything that you can store elsewhere? Or any way to give me enough room?« Carson asked.

»Well, perhaps we could squeeze together a few other things. The ammo alone will take one storage,« Caldwell said patiently, but hunted for a piece of a pepper on his plate with a little less patience.

»I understand. But there are other things we'll need less than medical supplies and ammunition. Can't you store something in the hangars?« Carson finished his jello, barely stopping himself in time to not lick the inside of the cup.

»I guess so. If you only saw how much equipment the scientists claim is 'vital' we'll have to transport!« Caldwell dropped his stout military manner for a moment and let his frustration show.

Carson grinned against his will. He could imagine the entire Atlantean science community descend upon McKay to explain what they needed and why, with Rodney getting pretty upset, but then plead enthusiastically with everybody who had any say in what they got. Also, Carson knew for a fact that even before McKay so much as dreamed of doing anything of the sort, Radek was already arranging things with Caldwell.

»Maybe that can be stored in the hangars,« Carson commented, knowing full well how miffed the scientists would be. This time he tried to scratch his wrist with the pad of the little finger. Despite the vigorous rubbing the itch didn't go away.

Caldwell didn't say anything, but his expression told Carson he got the joke.

»Listen, Colonel. I'd gladly give up some of these,« he pointed at the list, »but we don't have any assurance you'll be able to return to Atlantis every few months. Even so, I made allowances, in the hope that these supplies will last us eight to ten months. Save for the machines and the OR equipment. To tell you the truth, last year made me reassess a lot of what I knew of medical logistics, and in part, this is the result of that. I'm not ready to give up anything else, Colonel,« Carson said between bites of an apple.

»I understand.«

And Carson could tell he did. If only the itchy spot understood that Carson wanted it to stop! »Listen, Colonel, if you'll wait a day or so, I'll even help you rearrange the storage, but I won't give up anything my patients need.«

»Alright. I'll see what I can do.«

They ate in silence for a while. Specifically, Colonel Caldwell was eating and Carson trying to scratch away the skin on his wrist. The officer gave him a concerned look.

»Dr. Beckett, are you alright?«

»Aye; it's just an itch,« Carson cringed. »It's getting worse instead of better.« A few moments later he added with a frustrated tone: »I suspect it's psychosomatic.«

Perhaps that wasn't completely unlikely. Both men looked thoughtful at that and continued to eat.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A week later Carson felt relieved. The day of departure had finally come. It promised nothing other than his friends and the crew of Daedalus, and most importantly – no dealing with bureaucrats.

He thanked the sergeant who drove him to Area 51, took his suitcase and his bag and headed for the hangar where the Daedalus was waiting. Fortunately, all the supplies were on the ship already.

He read the boarding instructions only to see that he was to report to an officer for ...whatever the word meant. Between the lines, it was obvious that it was meant to make sure everybody got on board, but he couldn't care less. He'd had enough of checks, reports, requisitions and interviews.

He made his way towards the office. The feeling of a number of airmen and airwomen staring at a man in a pair of jeans and a sweater carrying a bag and a suitcase wasn't good.

Fortunately, he quickly escaped them and entered the office where he would politely say he'd come and that they needn't look for him all around the globe.

»Hello.«

»Yes?« the officer answered from behind his desk.

»I'm Doctor Beckett. I'm here to report... that I'm here.«

»Ah, you're travelling with MS-304A?«

»I beg your pardon?«

»I believe those of you involved with the aircraft call it the Daedalus.«

»Ach, yes,« Carson said, having stopped himself from sighing in irritation. His first impression of this officer was that he was as uptight as the SGC medical supply officer, if not worse.

»Alright,« the officer muttered to himself and took a clipboard from a pile on his neat desk. He turned a few pages until he found the one he was looking for, folding the rest to the back of the clipboard. »Doctor Bernard, you said?« he asked.

»No,« Carson said. »Doctor Beckett.«

»I only have one PhD in the biology section for the MS-304A flight.«

»I'm a medical doctor,« Carson sputtered.

»Oh,« The other man said, turning a few more pages. »Ah. There you are. Doctor Beckett, right?«

»Yes,« Carson harrumphed, giving the ceiling a glare. It was so dull he turned his gaze back to the desk. Apparently he got spoiled by the Atlantean ceilings, which were hardly uninteresting.

The officer seemed to finally take a better look at him, scanning him from head to toe. Then he gave his papers another glance.

»Are those yours?« he asked, nudging his chin at Carson's suitcase.

»Do you suppose I'd be carrying somebody else's?« Carson asked. »Yes, they're mine.« He knew it might've been rude, but at that point he'd had enough of bureaucrats and didn't care if he hurt their hypothetical feelings or not. He just wanted to be on the ship already.

»No, I suppose not,« the officer said half-heartedly. He obviously wasn't sincere, but he didn't say a thing about it either.

Carson had already turned toward the door to get out when the officer called him back.

»What now?« he groaned.

»Dr. Beckett, I have to inform you that you exceeded the maximum allowed amount of personal effects for transport with the MS-304A.«

»What? This?« Carson gestured to the suitcase and the bag he had slung over his shoulder.

»This, and what you sent ahead.«

Carson suddenly looked flabbergasted. He did send ahead a small box with a few things he didn't want to carry around. He didn't know they weren't allowed to take as much. After all, Daedalus was not a small ship.

»Isn't there enough room on the ship?« he asked, knowing that the officer probably didn't know that. He was just there to make people's lives miserable.

»I was told what the limit on the amount of personal effects is. You've exceeded it.«

»How can a suitcase, a bag and a small box be too much per person? I'm told there will only be around fifty or sixty people there. That's with all the new people we're getting. «

»Doctor Beckett, you have over two hundred containers of your personal effects on the aircraft,« the officer told him as if he were talking to a child.

»Two hundred! Where did you get that number?«

»Take a look at the manifest yourself, Doctor.« He offered the clipboard to Carson. The doctor snatched it from his hand, looked at it himself. His jaw dropped open.

»You've marked all the medical supplies as my luggage, y'numpty!« he cried.

»Impossible. This was triple-checked,« the officer said calmly.

»Yes, this list does contain our medical supplies, but they are not my luggage.«

The officer frowned. »This is your signature, is it not?« He pointed at the clipboard.

Carson looked at it again. »Yes, that is my signature.«

»Then they are your personal effects.«

»They're not personal effects. I am the CMO of the expedition. I have to approve all the supplies we requisition and receive. I have to sign the form.«

»But this clearly says they are your personal effects. I am sorry, Doctor, but I cannot allow you to take as much. You will have to leave some here.« The officer turned around and collected the clipboard in dismissal.

»But I told you, those are the medical supplies,« Carson wouldn't give in.

The officer didn't seem very pleased that he didn't get rid of the doctor. »Even so, there is an irregular number of containers. You will have to leave some here.«

»Why? I'd already told everybody how much we'll take and nobody said we shouldn't,« Carson sputtered.

»Well, I am in charge of the logistics at this airfield. You should have spoken to me. Even so, there is not enough room on the MS-304A, Doctor,« the officer said irritably.

»There is. I'd already spoken to Colonel Caldwell about it and he assures me there is.«

»And did he specifically say there is also enough room for your personal effects if you take the supplies?«

»We never spoke about that.«

»There you go,« he waved a smug hand at Carson.

»No. I haven't fought for this with so many people just so you'll...« Carson stopped himself before he said anything that would only cause him more trouble. »What can be done about it?« he crossed his arms.

»Very well, I will have to speak with the Colonel. Wait here,« the officer told him. He picked up the phone while Carson sank into a chair behind the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Several minutes later, Colonel Caldwell appeared at the door.

»What seems to be the problem?« he asked the other officer.

Before the officer managed to say anything, Carson spoke up. »Oh, thank god. Colonel, this man,« he pointed at the officer, »won't let me onto Daedalus, because I have too much luggage.«

»Doctor Beckett, I thought you knew it was agreed that there's a limit to how much one can take along,« the Colonel said, looking a bit exasperated by the fact that Carson didn't follow his instructions.

»Yes. Is this too much?« The doctor pointed at his suitcase and his bag.

»That's all you have?« Caldwell asked in surprise.

»Yes. And a small box I sent ahead, but that's all.«

»And how is that too much?« Caldwell asked the officer.

»Take a look at it yourself, sir.« The officer handed the clipboard to Caldwell.

»I see,« Caldwell said calmly. »Someone classified all the medical supplies as Dr. Beckett's personal effects.«

»That's what I've been trying to tell him!« Carson cried.

»It's alright, Lieutenant,« Caldwell told the officer. »Let it go. I can assure you it's all taken care of.«

»I can't, sir.« The Lieutenant was distinctly red in the face now. »It is what's written here. It's an official document. We can't overlook it.«

»Why?« Caldwell asked.

»It's the official procedure, sir. Besides, even if I were to turn a blind eye to Doctor Beckett's factual personal effects, the amount of factual medical supplies is too large.«

»Lieutenant, I am the commander of the ship. I know how much storage space we have. It's already taken care of. The amount of these supplies _is_ large, but nothing we can't handle.«

»I'm sorry, sir,« the Lieutenant said with remorse.

»D'ye hae no bloody reason, man? Can ye no tell it's a load of medical supplies!« Carson exploded from behind Caldwell.

The Lieutenant's eyes got bigger in fear. Not the least because he didn't completely understand the strange speech. »Is he alright, sir?« he quietly asked Caldwell.

»Lieutenant!« Caldwell growled equally quietly in response.

»Sorry, sir,« he whispered. Before Caldwell could say anything the Lieutenant turned to Beckett. »Are you absolutely sure all of it is necessary?«

»Yes,« sighed the doctor.

»You did the statistical breakdown of your expenditure and needs?«

»Yes.«

»You cross-referenced the availability of supplies with the availability to the rest of U.S. Government-sponsored medical facilities?«

The commander and the doctor exchanged confused looks. Each could tell the other didn't have a clue what that meant. Carson shrugged, assuming his nurse knew what that was about and did it. Thank god she was an American.

»Aye.«

»Alright. Apparently the other procedures were done correctly. As it concerns intergalactic travel and medical supplies, it is permissible for me to overlook the unusually large amount of this cargo subcategory. I am a kind man, I know it's for a good cause.« Carson and Caldwell again exchanged looks at this near insanity. Caldwell started wondering whether it was him or the Lieutenant that flunked English in high school. He was pretty sure he didn't.

»Thank you,« Carson said with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. He and Caldwell turned to go.

»Wait a minute, sir, Doctor.« The officer stood up. »There is still the matter of Doctor Beckett's personal effects.«

»I thought that was arranged,« Caldwell said, since Beckett was momentarily left without the ability to speak.

»No, sir. We only resolved the dispute regarding the excess of medical supplies.«

»Lieutenant. Is it not obvious that that,« Caldwell pointed at Carson's bag, »and medical supplies aren't the same thing. Somebody made a typo, dammit. It makes little difference on my ship.«

»With all due respect, sir, a typographical error was made. I cannot overlook it. Sir. Doctor Beckett has exceeded the number of personal items.«

Carson shrugged in obvious defeat.

Caldwell thought for a moment. »Lieutenant. Can you make a correction and classify the Doctor's personal effects as mine?«

»You will have to sign an agreement, sir« the Lieutenant said shyly, now obviously out of his desk jockey league.

»Sure.«

It took five minutes for the Colonel and the Lieutentant to arrange everything, but it was finally done. Caldwell said a sacchariny »thank you« to the other officer, who seemed oblivious to the insincere nature of it. Carson simply nodded, too exhausted from all the dealings with bureaucracy to do much more.

As they exited the office, Carson turned to the Colonel. »Thank you, Colonel.«

»No problem, Doc,« Caldwell smiled. »I don't like these administrative horrors any more than you. Besides, for the next eighteen days, you're one of my men.«

»Can I ask you something?«

»Sure.«

»How did you know it was possible to mark my things as yours?«

»Experience, Doctor. How do you think we kept replenishing our liquor stock in my previous postings?«

* * *

Carson sighed in relief when he finally set foot into the corridor off his cabin, knowing his luggage was safe there and his medical supplies safe in the storage room. All was well with the world again.

But not for long. Only moments after the relief, he heard something he hoped he wouldn't need to hear for at least a month. The sounds of two horrendous creatures coming at him from behind his back.

»Hey, Doc!«

»Carson.«

Sheppard and McKay smiled at him as they entered the corridor.

Carson just gave them a strange glare, said only one thing: »You two'll be the bloody end of me yet!« and he stormed off.

McKay and Sheppard exchanged confused glances.

»What did you do?« Sheppard asked the other man.

»Eat breakfast? How the hell should I know?«

»I haven't even seen him in the past week,« Sheppard added.

Fortunately, they knew, this would blow over sooner or later. Sheppard shrugged and walked away, Rodney following him. Supposedly Elizabeth brought enormous amounts of new DVDs with her. She had to be better company.


End file.
